


The Liquor On Your Lips

by nightlibrary



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Established Relationship, Light Bondage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 17:43:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/839610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightlibrary/pseuds/nightlibrary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam and Louis go clubbing, and maybe Louis likes making Liam jealous. Maybe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Liquor On Your Lips

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by their night out clubbing in Spain, I think it was? And inspired also, of course, by the marrieds, because they can't ever let me rest. You guys are assholes and I love you the best.

“Fuck,” Louis hisses, and his hips arch off of the coffee table as Liam bends down to suck on the skin in the crease of his thigh. It’s hard, the pull of his mouth, and there’s the barest edge of teeth--Louis finds himself wishing, in a flash of wild heat, that he’d bite.

It’s a sign of exactly how wound up he is that rather than subtly coaxing Liam into it, he gasps, “Liam, harder.”

Liam pulls back, licking lips flushed bright red and shining with tequila and spit. Louis feels the sore spot on his thigh like a sunburn. He tightens his grip on the underside of the coffee table as Liam watches his face. Liam’s pupils are huge, dilated by alcohol and whatever it was he’d gotten off of Andy or hopefully--Jesus, shit, hopefully--just the taste of Louis, right here under him.

“What do you mean, harder?” It’s the same Liam as always, talking, the same words he’d use, but his voice has gone rougher and raspier the longer they’ve been out, and it’s raw enough now that Louis feels it in the base of his spine. He squeezes the coffee table between his knees, then relaxes, realizing he likes it: being spread open like this, splayed out like a board game on Liam’s coffee table. _Touch me_ , he thinks, and bites his lower lip. _I want you to fucking touch me_.

“Your teeth,” he gets out. “Everything, I--Liam,” he breathes, “please. I need...,”

He trails off as Liam rises up off of his knees, towering over Louis, one hand coming up shamelessly to palm the front of his jeans. Louis can’t tell if he’s trying to coax himself into full hardness or if he’s trying to suppress the urge to come too soon, and Louis doesn’t know which he likes the thought of more. A whimper tears its way out of his throat, and he watches Liam’s heel press down harder. Suppression, then. Liam’s as bad as him.

“Everything?” Liam growls, and suddenly he’s climbing up onto the table, on his knees between Louis’ thighs, pushing them wider as he bends down to lick a stripe up Louis’ naked chest to his throat. Louis lets out a little moan.

“Fucking--,”

Liam bites his nipple, hard, moving a hand to twist the other in his fingers. Louis cries out. His legs lift without his permission, crashing against Liam’s own, trying to close, trying anything--and his head slams back into the wood as Liam’s other hand smoothes over his dick. He can hear Liam speaking through his teeth, but it’s muffled against the salt-sweat-liquor-heat of Louis’ skin.

“W-what?”

“Did I say,” Liam rasps, pulling back, teeth dragging, “that you could move?”

Louis closes his eyes and wills himself to focus, to breathe deeply enough to keep alert, to answer Liam’s questions--if it’s this, then, if this is the game they’re playing. It’s a miracle the coffee table isn’t splintering beneath his fingers from the force of his grip.

“Don’t make me ask again, Louis,” Liam says, but there’s a warmth to it that’s begging Louis to do just that. Liam likes to see him work for it, and he likes to see him work hard. Louis wets his lips with the tip of his tongue.

“Ask what again?” he chances. There’s a beat in which neither of them moves, a single hot breath of space, and then Liam’s sliding back, pulling free of Louis’ grip. Louis can’t help his noise of protest.

Liam, back on his feet, silences Louis with a glare. In any other circumstance it’d be terrifying, but now, with Louis up on his elbows to see the strain of Liam’s erection against the front of his jeans, it has Louis losing his breath. He falls back against the table, eyes closed. _Holy shit._ He isn’t going to last long tonight, not if Liam doesn’t stop dragging it out like this.

“If you’re going to move,” Liam says, slowly, “when I’ve told you not to. I guess we’ll have to make it so you can’t.”

Louis lets out nothing but a tiny sigh of a breath. His legs fall open almost gracefully, Liam’s words rolling over him and through him, replacing every tense muscle with a vague, soft tingling, like all of his limbs have just been woken from sleep.

“Please,” he whispers, “Liam.”

Liam’s already walking into the bedroom, but he pauses by Louis to lean down and press a kiss to his lower lip. “I like when you’re polite,” he says quietly, and Louis bites the inside of his cheek as he nods. He can be polite. He can be whatever Liam wants.

When Liam comes back, he’s holding every set of handcuffs anyone has has bought them as a joke. There are six pairs. Louis swallows as Liam switches them from hand to hand, as if weighing his options.

“I think these,” he says quietly, and Louis recognizes the pairs as the double set Andy bought them as a joke for their last anniversary. He feels something like recognition start to bloom in his brain as Liam takes another couple of pairs in hand, discarding the remaining onto the couch before approaching Louis’ left ankle.

Louis is sucking deep breaths in through his nose as Liam handcuffs his ankles to the legs of the table, talking all the while. “Do you know what you did tonight?” It’s punctuated by the snick of metal on metal. Louis shakes his head. His eyes are fixed on the ceiling, but in his periphery there’s Liam, stepping up beside Louis’ right shoulder.

“Give me your hand, Louis.”

He’s reluctant. Without his hands, he can’t touch Liam. Can’t fist his fingers in his hair when it gets to be too much. He’ll have to grab at nothing. It makes him loud, that lack of control. Liam’s walls are thicker than Louis’, and they’ve never once disturbed the neighbors, but Louis worries, sometimes, about who might be hearing him scream.

Still: he knows what he wants. He wants to be good for Liam, because he wants Liam back on top, sucking Louis’ skin into his mouth. He holds out his hand.

“Good,” Liam murmurs, “good for me.” He kisses the inside of Louis’ wrist just once before crossing around to cuff the other hand. When he’s done, he reaches down to bury a hand in Louis’ hair.

“How many shots,” he says, “do you think you had tonight?”

“Not a lot,” Louis answers, and his voice comes out almost demure. He hadn’t really had that much to drink, considering; and it’d been hours, really, since he’d ingested anything. He made sure to stop early. Drunk sex is good. Drunk not-being-able-to-get-it-up sex is not. In a flash, he remembers Liam’s dilated pupils, then the swell of his dick. He bites his lip. _Entirely arousal, then._ Whatever they’d taken had worn off considerably.

“It was enough,” Liam says, tightening his grip on Louis’ hair and forcing his head back, baring his throat, “to think that dancing with Andy like that right in front of me was a good idea.”

The recognition that had been only a trickle earlier now crashes down on Louis full force. Andy’s handcuffs, Liam’s grip on his hair, everything. “Liam,” Louis breathes, “are you jealous?”

“Are you sorry?” Liam’s voice is deadly quiet, serious, rough as the heel of the hand he drags over Louis’ throat now. Louis’ breath hitches and Liam presses down just slightly on his windpipe, the grip Liam has in his hair keeping Louis from pulling away. He chokes, and Liam relents.

“Yes,” Louis gasps. “I’m sorry, Liam.”

Liam leans down until his mouth is just over Louis’ own before he breathes his reply.

“Good.”

His lower lip catches on Louis’ and Louis strains upward, trying to push into the touch, but Liam pulls back, stands up straight and looks down at Louis, naked and desperate and cuffed to his coffee table. He doesn’t smile.

“But we’re going to make sure you remember not to do it again.”

Louis lets out a frustrated almost-whimper and tugs at the cuffs against his wrists. He arches his body, trying to find leverage, and he hears Liam sigh appreciatively above him.

“God, Louis, you’re gorgeous. Gorgeous and mine.”

Louis screws his eyes shut and ignores the way heat’s pooling in his stomach, the way it makes his teeth ache when Liam gets like this. Possessive, hungry, vicious. Liam’s kind and polite and every manner of nice thing in public, and wouldn’t ever hurt someone for something as silly as dancing with Louis--that, and he knows Louis is an independent person who makes his own choices. It’s just that Liam happens to really enjoy Louis choosing him, and this isn’t public, and Louis wants Liam to fuck him until he forgets anything but being here on this coffee table.

“Aren’t you?” Liam has his hands on Louis’ knees, now, and he’s sliding them down the insides of Louis’ thighs. “Aren’t you mine, Louis?”

“Liam,” Louis says, “please, please, I’m--I’m yours, yeah, I’m whatever you want, just--,”

Liam’s fingertips meet the creases of Louis’ thighs. “Just what, Louis? Hm? Ask for it, babe. Gotta ask for it.”

“Fuck me, get your mouth on me. I want--teeth, earlier. Hard, Liam.” He bites his lip and lets out a little exhale, pauses because he can hardly believe how much he wants it, how much he wants Liam to mark him up like this, almost a perverse sort of challenge: _Want me to be yours? Gotta make me._ He inhales shakily. He’s not even speaking in real sentences, hasn’t managed to give any clear instruction, so he takes his time saying, “I want it hard.”

“You’re perfect,” Liam whispers, reverent, and he presses his fingers hard into Louis’ thighs, pushing like he wants to sink beneath the skin. “You’re absolutely perfect, Lou. Do you want me to suck you first? Hm? Before I ride you?”

 _Oh my God._ Louis’ brain is just that thought, over and over. He’s positive that’s all it’s going to be, maybe, for at least a week. “Jesus Christ, Liam,” he gasps, and Liam leans in to suck on Louis’ skin, teeth coming down this time before Louis can ask for them, a harsh sting that has him letting out an involuntary sound--

“Louis,” Liam murmurs, laving over the bite mark with his tongue, “do you remember when I gagged you? We got home from that dinner party and you’d been teasing me all night, making these sly remarks and noises over the food, tugging at the knot in your tie?” Louis nods and rolls his hips, sucking his lower lip into his mouth. Liam pushes him flat with both hands and holds him there as he keeps talking, mouth ghosting over his cock and onto his other thigh. “You kept sliding your hands over it, and I knew--God, I knew how pretty you’d look with it over your mouth. And you were, such--shit, so hot for me--,”

Louis strains against his cuffs, a whine building in his throat. The cuffs are heavily padded, thankfully; he imagines his skin would be close to bleeding by now, the way he can’t stop pulling, trying to get closer to Liam.

“You loved it. Your ass in the air, all red from my hands. I love you like that. Like this.” Liam leans forward then and runs his tongue along Louis’ dick, stopping at the head to suck it in, hard. Louis cries out and pushes into it as much as he can. Liam turns his eyes up to look at him, then pulls off to smile.

“Yeah? You want that? Tell me, Louis.”

“Y-yes,” Louis says, as emphatically as possible. “Please,” he adds, just in case, and he feels Liam’s hands tighten on his hips. A bubble of pride blooms and bursts in Louis’ chest and he feels a tingling roll down to his toes, the pleasure of knowing he’s giving Liam what he wants a warm undercurrent to the already hot suction of Liam’s mouth.

Liam curls a hand around his dick. “So good,” he murmurs, kisses the underside of Louis’ dick and then curls his tongue around the head before sucking down to his fist, pulling Louis in hard and wet and slow until his toes curl a little against the air.

“Yes,” he says again, this time a hiss of pleasure as Liam starts to pull deeper and pull off, slowly building momentum, tongue along the underside and pushing up, cheeks soft and palate bumpy, every texture the best Louis is sure he’s felt--he’ll be sure, anyway, until the next thing, the next time Liam takes him in--and fuck, _fuck_ \--, “Liam--,”

Liam moans around him, or hums, or groans--something, there’s the vibration and the sound and Louis arches far as he can--but then Liam’s pulling off and Louis could cry from the loss, he does, almost, a broken little whine--

“Say it again,” Liam says, panting and jacking his fist too slow. “Say it again, Louis.”

Louis works his hands around until they’re gripping the legs of the table, his chest rising and falling, sweat on his chest and pooling in the hollow of his neck, making him glow in the light from the only lamp on. He sucks in as much air as he can and then breathes it all out on the word.

“Liam.” It’s softer than he wanted it to be, airy and too sweet, not what he means. Not now. He tries again, feeling a throb in his spine and between his legs and wanting to scream but instead starting to chant, “Liam, Liam, Liam, Liam--,”

Liam bends down and presses a kiss into each of his hips, runs his thumb beneath the head of his cock. “Scream it,” he murmurs, eyes hot and bottomless when Louis lifts his head to meet his gaze, a furnace or a freefall--so dark in this room, between Louis’ legs. “Scream for me, Louis.”

Louis doesn’t think he can. His whole body is starting to shake from the strain and Liam’s free hand is slicking over his stomach like it wants to reach his chest but he’s not tall enough and his fingers are rough and warm and his mouth is--

“Louis,” Liam says. Louis swallows and blinks, drops his head back onto the table.

“I--I..,”

Liam pinches the back of Louis’ thigh. “You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you?” He lowers his mouth back down, taking Louis deep, cock hitting his throat and _Jesus Christ_.

“Liam,” Louis shouts, “Liam--,”

Liam’s hand travels down, cups his balls, lingers, moves down, finger pressing insistently, and there’s the vibration again as Louis screams his loudest yet, just Liam’s name as Liam’s other hand digs fingernails into the skin of Louis’ stomach and Louis comes hard down Liam’s throat, scream turning wordless, just a moan that snaps in half and stutters down into soft little sobbing gasps, a fire dying.

Slowly, Liam pulls back, and Louis drifts back into himself as Liam climbs up again, making Louis shudder this time when he pushes his thighs apart with his knees to make space. He rubs Louis’ sides, gently, up to his neck and the sides of his face. He pushes Louis’ hair back and when Louis blinks his eyes open, Liam is finally smiling.

“Think there’s space by your hips for my knees,” he says, almost thoughtfully, and Louis laughs feebly. He feels like he’s waking from a dream.

“I don’t know,” he says, and his voice is raspy, as though he’s the one who’s just given a blowjob. “Might have to wait a bit. Say, a week.”

“You can do better than that.” Liam bends down and nips at his lower lip, then mutters against his mouth. “You better, yeah? I’m in charge tonight.”

Louis mumbles a little “oh,” and shifts within the confines of his binds, feeling a trickle of warmth run down his spine. “Mm, you keep talking like that and maybe we’ll see, Daddy Payne.”

Liam makes a noise of protest. “Ugh, I told you not to call me that.”

“It’s hilarious.” Louis grins beneath Liam’s mouth; Liam is pressing kisses to his cheeks, his nose, the curve of his ear. “You can’t say you don’t like it a little bit.”

“It’s weird.” He kisses Louis’ jaw.

Louis scoffs. “You’ve got me handcuffed to your coffee table and you think me calling you ‘daddy’ is weird?”

“Look, I’m not saying it’s weird in general. I’m saying I, personally, prefer ‘Liam.’”

“Liam, huh?” Louis bites down on his grin. “As in, ‘Liam, I fucking love it when you get all possessive and fuck me into your coffee table?’”

Liam bites down gently on Louis’ collarbone. “Is that a request? Thought I was getting a fuck.”

“Liam.” Louis gets it out a little breathy, a little enticing. He feels Liam’s body still, mouth hovering over his other collarbone. “Liam,” he tries again. This time it’s more of a groan.

“Don’t,” Liam says, head resurfacing, eyes on Louis’. “Louis, you--,”

Louis rolls his body the tiny bit he can--if these were ordinary, cop-variety handcuffs, God, he’d be fucked; he tried that once when he was in college and he doesn’t know how anyone handles that little length--grinding up, and gasps, “ _Liam_ \--,”

“You win,” Liam groans, kissing Louis again, “God, okay, you win, you always win, you bastard--,”

“You love me,” Louis says, gleeful, and Liam groans again.

“You win,” he repeats, “but in the bed. I’m worried this table’s going to do awful things to your ass and I can’t have it encroaching on my territory.”

“Liam Payne,” Louis cries, half-scandalized and half-proud. Liam grins--it’s Louis’ favorite one, where his eyes nearly disappear. Louis kisses his chin. “You animal.”

Liam pulls back, then, and--a bit ungracefully, for him--slumps onto the floor and starts to undo the handcuffs. He barely says it loud enough for Louis’ to hear, in an almost mumble directed at Louis’ ankle, but Louis catches it.

“For you,” Liam says. “Only for you.”

Louis feels fond enough to think that maybe he’ll tell Liam he danced with Andy on purpose. When Liam kisses the knob of his ankle, he smiles and amends the thought: _Definitely. Later._


End file.
